


How Are We Even Friends?

by SaintFrancis



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst and Humor, London, M/M, Sex, Sexual Frustration, Sexual Humor, Teasing, Underwear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-26
Updated: 2015-08-01
Packaged: 2018-03-25 20:43:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3824452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaintFrancis/pseuds/SaintFrancis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A reluctant Stiles goes shopping with Scott.  Stiles spies Derek in the underwear department and decides to tease the wolf.  Things progress in Chapter 2.</p><p>Background on Jackson's actions in London. </p><p>Around Season 2</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Stiles pulled the Jeep into the Macy’s parking lot, parked, and killed the engine. He couldn’t believe he had been dragged to the mall. He hated shopping. The pace was too slow. Sorting through piles and racks of clothes, that’s a task for bored housewives, he thought. The T-shirts and jeans his dad purchased for him were good enough. 

He longed to be in front of his computer, working on his latest research project, tracing Jackson’s actions in London through the web and social networks.

"You know, dragging me to the mall just awful, right, Scott? This this more painful than sitting down with you to watch the recent seasons of "Teen Vamp" with its endless plot lines, disappearing characters, and lack of hot stars. And, I could be at home right now, you know, my project, _The_ American Werewolf in London, who by the way, is literally cutting a path through London’s high society.”

“You’ve seen the pics of Jackson, sweaty and shirtless, dancing at the Soho club called The Hound.  What about that pic of Jackson at the club in Cardiff?  By the way, I translated the name of the club, and C-I I  L-A-W-R means downward dog in Welsh.  Only god and the Welsh know how to pronounce it.”  

Scott sat silently and looked at his friend as Stiles continued to ramble. “Scott, isn’t that fucking hilarious? And, what about the unsolved London dog maulings? That’s bound to be Jackson.”  

“I know you get a kick out of the research.  You showed the runway photo to Allison.”  

Stiles fell silent as his mind jumped to the image he had found online earlier in day. It was so insane, so Jackson.           

Jackson, the model, his blue eyes piercing forward and mouth positioned in a self-satisfied smirk.  He was clothed in a too tight wet white T-shirt that stretched to reveal the definition of his chest and stomach. “CUT” was stamped on the shirt in big, black block lettering. 

Stiles assumed that the designer chose an American model to wear the shirt, and was having fun with the word cut, using it to both emphasize Jackson’s abs and play up the European distaste for circumcision. Stiles knew that the designer had no idea that there was a third meaning of the word. Jackson was likely London’s modern Jack the Ripper. 

The designer had completed the image by dressing Jackson in a pair of black skinny jeans that hung too low, giving the viewer a peek at Jackson’s pale lower torso, hipbones, and blonde happy trail.  The jeans, by any standard outside the fashion world, were also too short. Stiles guessed the designer was using the staging to emphasize the ridiculously priced shoes Jackson was sporting on his sockless feet.  Only a few kanima-traumatized Beacon Hills residents would appreciate Jackson wearing  blue lizard skin loafers.  

Stiles came out of his momentary trance, realizing that the British may have survived the Blitz, but doubted they’d survive Jackson. Once that thought cleared, he started badgering Scott again, “There’s bound to more out there.  I just need my computer and you dragged me here.” 

They exited the Jeep and walked towards Macy’s. “Scott, tell me again.   Exactly why are we here? You know, because it sounded fairly dumb the first time.”

Scott muttered a response. Stiles couldn't believe what he was hearing.  Was his friend dumber than a hammer in mud?   “You mean we are here because you heard Lydia tell Allison that she thought the twins looked hot in light blue colored jeans, and you want a pair of light blue jeans? That’s the reason? Because Lydia and Allison think Ethan and Aidan look hot in light blue jeans? You know how high school that sounds, right?” 

“And, buddy, I got to tell ya, I’ve seen you down there.  Just sayin', I’m pretty sure jeans will not fix your problem.  You’ve got to have the merchandise, and unless you are a grower, no amount of packaging is going to solve that problem.” 

Stiles waived his right arm, pointing first at Scott’s groin and then the department store.  “All of this this makes me wonder, how are we even friends?”

Once inside the store Stiles insisted that they head straight to the men’s department. “Come on Scott. Let’s get on with it. Jeans are jeans. Find some light blue ones and let’s get out of here.  You know man. Other things to do. People to see. Time’s a wasting. Chop, chop. Snap, snap. Move along litl’ doggy.”

Scott looked at his friend, smiled, but said nothing.  He loved to tease and torture his friend. In Beacon Hills, amping Stiles was one of more entertaining things you could do.  All it took was slowing life down to a normal pace and Stiles went crazy.  

Scott found a rack of jeans and started rummaging through it with a methodical slowness that was sure to gig Stiles.  Scott spotted a pair he liked and turned to his friend to ask an opinion. But Stiles had disappeared. 

\---------

 _Good god, can you take any longer, Scott?_  

Stiles had started scanning the store for something interesting. Anything interesting. He found it, or rather him. 

He spied Derek in the men’s underwear section and beelined toward him. “Derek, so what’s a wolf like you doing in a place like this?”

Derek didn’t look up from the packages of black wife beaters. “You know Stiles, that has to be the worst.  Do you really think you’re funny?” 

“My dad thinks so.”

Derek responded by moving away from Stiles toward the next display of Ts. Stiles followed and continued trying to engage.  “Hey Derek, what’s the deal with you and the color black?  Is it because black is _so_ slimming? Or is it a tough guy thing?”

Derek didn’t answer and walked to another clothing rack, again attempting to put distance between himself and the hyperactive young man. 

“If you are so into black, what about these black thongs over here Derek?” Stiles loved taunting the wolf, and made a point of saying loudly “thongs” and “Derek.” 

Derek responded through gritted teeth, “Stiles shut up.” 

Stiles wouldn’t let Derek escape and joined him at the Calvin Klein display. “Oh come on wolf man, you can’t take a little teasing?”  

“Stiles, I’m warning you.”  Stiles had heard those words many times and didn’t take them seriously. 

“What’s da matter? The puppy can’t take a little teasing?”

Derek snapped.  

Stiles saw the flash of red in Derek's eyes and went into overdrive, talking to relieve the tension, while continuing to play his dangerous game, thinking he could be funny enough to calm Derek down.  The tactic worked with Scott, he thought, surely the play will work with Derek.   

“So, Derek, do werewolves prefer boxers or briefs or some combo product like boxer briefs, or perhaps trunks?  What about the new synthetic materials that wick moisture away from the body, or are you firmly in the cotton camp?  Do you wolf men need athletic support with all the running and wrestling and fighting and shit you do?  What about long johns in the winter and how…” 

Before he could finish, Derek, with whiplash speed, grabbed him, jerked him into the fitting room, and pinned against the wall in one of the dressing room stalls.

“Stiles,” Derek sneered, his face inches from Stiles’, “I told you to shut the fuck up.” 

Stiles knew he had gone too far.  When he had teased Derek before, Scott and others had always been around. He had let his guard down and now found himself face-to-face and alone with a werewolf in a nearly deserted department store in an isolated fitting room. 

Stiles started breathing quickly and then the adrenaline punched. “Derek, let me go, I think I’m having a panic attack.” 

Derek lowered his gaze, but didn’t release the distressed young man. “Stiles, I’ve been warning you.” 

“I know, I know, and I’m sorry.  But Derek, I only,” Stiles paused and drew in a deep breath, trying to calm himself, “tease people I like.  Please let go of me.”

Derek reestablished eye contact. “What do you mean by like?” 

Stiles took another breath, paused, and quietly exhaled.  He grimaced out of fear of the repercussions of what he was about to say, “well, in your case, you know, like, as in _really_ like.” 

“What do you mean by _really_ like?” Derek asked, smiling and nodding his head slightly, indicating he was beginning to understand the full meaning of Stiles’ words.  “Do you mean really like, like this?” Derek asked, pulling Stiles closer and kissing him.  

“Uh, yeah,” Stiles mumbled through an awkward kiss.

Derek grabbed Stiles’ right hand and pulled it to his chest. He guided the hand slowly down his abdomen until their two hands hovered above Derek’s waistline. Derek steered Stiles’ hand into his jeans and under the elastic waistband of his underwear. “Okay man boy, what do you think you’ll find? Boxers, briefs, or something else?”

Stiles' mind had shifted from panic to warp drive.  _Adderall will not throttle this_. He freed his hand from Derek’s loosening grip and pushed it further into Derek’s underwear. Stiles liked what he found.  Derek certainly didn’t have Scott’s merchandise problem.

Stiles mouthed the words “boxer briefs,” while leaning into another kiss. 

As they worked themselves into a deeper, more passionate kiss, one that Stiles knew would push the couple well beyond a nice grope, the fitting room door opened. Both Derek and Stiles lunged to shut it but stopped short. Scott was standing in the doorway holding a pair of jeans. 

“Hey Stiles, I need your opinion on these.  Do you think Allison will like them?” 

All Stiles could do was stammer, “Really, Scott, really?  How are we even friends?”

 


	2. Chapter 2

“You know, I think you’re jealous of Derek, “ Stiles said as they walked out of Macy’s and back to the Jeep. “I know with your wolfie senses you heard what Derek and I were up to, and you had to interrupt.”

“No, it isn’t like that. I heard what was going on, but I didn't know if Derek was attacking you or playing with you. So, I had to step in.”

“Well thanks for that.  I had _it_ literally in hand.  I don’t know if I’ll get that back."

“There is one thing I know for sure,” Scott said. "If you want something, you’ll get it. _No_ , really isn’t in your vocabulary, unless you are telling someone else no.  So, please be careful.  You can’t tease that man.  Promise me that you will not tease him.”

“Got it, check, don’t tease the wolf. Thanks bud.”

The route from Macy’s to Scott’s house was a short one, but Stiles felt time creep at glacial speed.  He longed for steam rate. 

He couldn’t wait to ditch Scott and go about his business. He had reached his McCall limit. 

\--------

With Scott gone, Stiles’ attention returned to Derek. He picked up his cell and barked an order the alpha. “My bedroom.  Now.”

The gambit worked.  Derek didn’t bother with the Camaro, and instead ran to the Stilinski home. He jumped up on the roof and climbed into the bedroom. 

Stiles was on his back on the bed, clad in nothing but dark blue briefs.  Stiles’ eyes were closed; his face wore a slight smirk.  Derek sat down on the bed, and leaned over to kiss the prone young man gently on the lips.

After the kiss, he sat up so he could take in the sight. Derek thought that the blue briefs looked hot against Stiles’ fair skin.  He liked the brown hair and the long limbs. 

Derek wanted to savor the moment and took his time. He reached down and traced a finger around and over Stiles’ lips.  A smirk turned into a smile. 

He gently caressed Stiles’ chest. He teased Stiles' nipples with light bites.  He tickled the young mans’ arm pits.  He rubbed his palm over Stiles’ abdomen.  As he played, he noticed that Stiles’ erection was growing, a darkening stain leaked through the underwear. 

He moved to lick the stain and Stiles pushed his groin into Derek’s mouth.  The wolf enjoyed the salty taste and then felt a searing pain burn his lips and throat. His muscles tightened. He yelled, “what the fuck?” and scrambled out of the window.

Stiles bolted out of bed and rushed to the window, only to catch the wisp of Derek disappearing into the woods. Stiles too was confused. _Really, what the fuck?_

He walked over to the trashcan and pulled out the underwear packaging.  He read it in disbelief.   “Silver embedded into the fiber for maximum antimicrobial activity.” 

\-------

“I’m freaked.” 

“What is it?” Scott asked on the other end of the connection.

“I think I’ve poisoned Derek.” Stiles dumped the details of the encounter. Scott fought back a laugh.  He had to give Stiles credit.  His friend was ballsy.  He certainly paid no attention to the earlier warning about not teasing wolves. 

“I’m not even going to call Deaton on this one. Derek would have had to consume a lot of silver for you to permanently injure him.  You probably burned him.  That’s all.  Call him. You’ll see.”

Stiles did as instructed and was relieved to find that the wolf was grumpy, but okay. He could deal with grumpy.

“I’m really sorry about that.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Derek replied.

“Rain check?” Stiles asked.

“Yeah, whenever.”

“Okay.  Tomorrow night.  My room at eight.”

Derek ended the call with a noncommittal "Yeah" that hid his excitement. 

\-------

Derek arrived on time. Stiles was standing by his desk as the wolf slid through the opened window.  The wolf stood up and allowed his body to be framed by the window. A full moon’s blue light backlit Derek’s body and the wolf pulled off his shirt to reveal his chest.

“Now you,” Derek said.

Stiles complied, removing a thrift store t-shirt and exposing a lanky torso. 

Derek kicked off his shoes.  Stiles did the same.

“Now your belt,” Derek commanded.

“Nope,” Stiles replied, “my room, my rules.” You’ve seen me. I want to see you. “Your belt,” Stiles barked.

“Now the pants.”

“Okay, just stand there.”

The wolf was indeed wearing black boxer briefs as Stiles had suspected.  _Perfect packaging,_ Stiles thought.  _Ample merchandise._

Stiles’ effort to dominate the alpha quickly collapsed as he moved toward the wolf and started to feel Derek’s body. In less than a minute, they were both in bed, underwear clad. 

“What do you have for underwear?” Derek asked.

 “I dunno.  It really is a sideshow before the main event.  A bit of fun, nothing more.”

Derek smiled and quickly slid his off, motioning for Stiles to do the same. 

They spent a goodly amount of time kissing, biting, squeezing, licking and sucking each other.  Stiles was beginning to wonder if there was any “ing” that they hadn’t tried short of fucking. 

He was hard and ready, and good to go, top or bottom. Derek promised him at least two gos. Stiles opted to bottom the first round after extracting a guarantee that he’d top for round two. 

Derek loosened him through a combination of finger work, intermittent kisses and a free hand that roamed and massaged other parts of the man’s body.  Stiles’ involuntary defenses, his base tension, evaporated.  When he was ready, he nodded to Derek who positioned his dick and slowly entered.  Stiles took in a deep breath and exhaled.  Derek pulled back and pushed forward again.  Stiles tried to breathe but Derek’s size was too much.  He tensed.

Derek placed one hand on Stiles’ chest.  “Breathe. Yeah, that’s right. Now, I’m going to push a bit more, and I want you to look into my eyes and just concentrate on breathing.” Stiles did as instructed and fixed on Derek's eyes.  He saw in them a tenderness that he'd never seen before.  After a few more exchanges, Stiles had relaxed again, and soon Derek was at rhythm.  Stiles moaned loudly with each thrust.  _Thank God, Papa Stilinski is at work_ , Derek thought.

Derek came and Stiles soon followed. As they enjoyed a post-fuck embrace, Stiles’ phone rang. 

“Yeah?”

“Yep, I’m okay.  I told you I would be,” Stiles said to Scott. 

“What do you mean you can hear me all the way to your house? What the fuck are you listening for? I told you I’d be okay.”

Stiles looked at Derek in disbelief. Derek shrugged. He wasn't about to try to explain Scott’s protectiveness.

“Damn it Scott. The fact that you were listening and you just interrupted us with this call makes me wonder, once again, how are we even friends?” 

Stiles hung up and tossed the phone on the floor. He repositioned himself on the bed and rested his head on Derek’s chest.  His moment of anger had passed, and he realized just how lucky he was.

Few men would ever be as loved and as protected as he was.  It came in different forms. As a tough guy and lover, he’d take Derek as a partner over any man. And, then there was Scott. He realized that despite Scott’s flaws, McCall would protect and love his best friend until end of time. 

Stiles drew a deep breath with the realization and pressed his face into Derek’s chest.  After lingering for a minute, he bit Derek’s right nipple and looked up. “My turn,” he said.  


End file.
